


pov: you are the sexy fireman that doused my epic fire moves

by yenso



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, just mindless dumbassery nothing to see here, not beta read oopsie woopsie, warning: some passing thoughts on getting laid like all college parties do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25763917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yenso/pseuds/yenso
Summary: Lio Fotia goes to a party, hopes to promote, and instead gets blasted by a garden hose.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	pov: you are the sexy fireman that doused my epic fire moves

**Author's Note:**

> gift fic for a very near and dear friend of mine!! A day late but shhh i pretend not to see

It was a costume party in August.

Call it a means of relaxation, fraternizing, whatever one would think of it. It wasn’t as though costume parties were only allowed in October, and he was always in costume anyway for shows. The drinks were free, Lio could smuggle all the leftovers with him back to the dorm, feast upon them with the rest of his troupe, and use the opportunity to have a good night before senior year of college kicked into full swing.

Also because damn, he looked good in his new costume. He wasn’t waiting until Halloween to show it off, dammit.

So he combs through his hair once, adjusts the belts his dark leather outfit twice, fluffs up his sleeves thrice, exhales maybe four times, blinks five in a row, looks in the mirror at six different intervals, and practices his party tricks seven before leaving the room and heading for the site of the party. He hears the thudding of music in a higher-end dorm room from the neighboring residential complex, knocking a few times before it opens to a man with long, flowing rocker hair and drooping eyes. True to his obviously meticulously luscious locks, he’s decked in punk rock, complete with the spikes and combat boots.

“Hey, Boss. Rock out?” The guy chuckles and makes a rock-and-roll symbol with his hand before he balls it into a waiting fist.

“Sure, Meis,” He gets met halfway with Lio’s own before he steps back and allows him to wander into the room. Amethyst eyes do a skim over the dorm, bottles arranged in a neat triangular formation on the table in the center as people hovered around it, passing bottles and taking shots as a collective brain cell. A pair of girls, dressed as a hotdog and hamburger, giggle as they sling their arms around another man in a sparkling gold spandex bodysuit. The man is hopelessly flushed red, staggering with every step and slurring his words as he waves a bottle of rosé like an accessory. Lio spots two other men hovered around the table, spiked blue and curly red side by side.

That hair. He’d recognize it anywhere, from dorms to troupe work. Even if it was wrapped in loose white bandages.

“Gueira, what’s going on?”

The mop of curly hair shifts before the man in question, his entire figure wrapped in a barely passable amount of— oh those aren’t bandages that is toilet paper. Rephrase. Wrapped in a barely passable amount of toilet paper over normal clothes, he fully turns to Lio, eyes immediately brightening with another fist bump offered forward. Once more, Lio responds with his own and keeps his eyes fixated on that of Gueira’s. The brightness in his voice matches the cheekiness of his grin, combined with the way he suddenly looks up with such speed one might consider it to be whiplash. “Nothing much, Boss! Jus’ watchin’ them drink their asses drunk. Glad you could make it!” He looks Lio up and down before giving a thumbs up.

Lio nods. Give the old one-two charm with a small smirk and…

“Of course I made it. I try not to miss a chance to network,” And by networking, absolutely did not mean self-promotion and advertisement of the Mad Burnish Troupe. Even better, the turnout seemed favorable, he muses to himself. A decent number. Few familiar faces, most unfamiliar, and they all seemed to blend perfectly into some Frankenstein monster of a cotton-candy color mix. Blue, pastel pink, pale yellow, dark green (Lio firmly believes his shade of green was way cooler, thanks)— was the entire rainbow here or something? “How many here are from the troupe?”

“Four. Including you, Boss.”

“Seems like a sizable group to show some fire tricks to. And don’t call me Boss here.”

Gueira laughs. Lio casts a side-glance towards him, brow cocked, but shifts his eyes towards the crowds. Four meant him, Gueira, he saw Meis at the door… ah.

“Thyma is here,” Lio nods his head towards a tan-skinned woman with curly hair in a bloodied nurse outfit, making chatter with a group off to the side, red plastic cup in hand. She laughs at a joke left unheard to his ears, but he smiles slightly regardless, “I haven’t seen her since she resigned. I heard she got into the medical program.”

“Yeah. Sheesh, doing med school’s a real pain in the ass. Don’t know how she does it…” Gueira scratches the back of his head and shrugs, “but she’s doing pretty alright. Had a good time talking to her.”

“I’ll catch up with her later,” Lio shrugs, “I’m going to perform before too many people get drunk. If they don’t burn this into their memory, it’s pointless.”

He gives Gueira The Look. Not the bedroom eyes, mind you. Perhaps he could get laid tonight if he felt like trying, but if there was any laying he was planning on doing, it was laying it thick on the people here until they agreed to see a show or two. Come on, who didn’t like playing with fire?

Now, as for Gueira, he…

doesn’t give him The Look back. Rather, he looks a little appalled.

“You’re gonna start a fire in that? What’re you supposed to be, anyway? A royal leather biker?”

Lio knits his brow, “I look good, and it’s a costume. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“If that’s what you wanna go for, sure,” the redhead snorts, bemused. Feet shifting away from Lio, he waves as he saunters off with a, “I’ll get a lighter for you, Boss. Just get ready to do your thing.”

(Oh, he’s certainly prepared, alright. The Listerine hooked to his outfit is loaded.)

He figures he should assess his crowd while waiting. Some pink-haired woman dressed as a corpse bride, a shorter blonde woman wearing goggles with— oh sweet mother of god she’s dressed as a goddamn Despicable Me Minion— and the spiky blue-haired guy who was next to Gueira earlier was dressed as…

Lio squints. Was it really a costume to only wear puffy red pants with the number three sloppily painted on the side? And a fanny pack? With… what the hell is that DIY mop he’s waving around? Is he stupid? Whatever it was, the corpse bride and Despicable Me Minion were eating up the act.

He concludes it’s best not to interact with them quickly and settles for taking a preliminary drink, approaching the center table surrounded by people taking turns pouring into their glasses. Vodka, rosé, limoncello, okay, well, looks like everything here was alcohol. Tap water it is. So he trails away from the table and the kitchen is where he ends up making a stay, grabbing a red plastic cup from the counter and turning up the faucet. Absentmindedly, Lio watches the water stream out of the sink head, gushing into the cup as the water piles on.

What trick should he do this time? He already had everything to breathe fire, so long as Gueira found a lighter. He had a torch on him for this, so a few moves were also possible. He needed space, and more than that, he had to be skilled enough to get people talking about him. Then after that? It was the best chance to spread the word about the Mad Burnish Troupe. Perhaps it could be seen as shallow, but as far as Lio saw it, this was simply mutually beneficial. The people get the good time they want out of this party, and he gets word spread as well as potential new audience members.

“Hey, move over a sec.”

The voice is knife-cuttingly loud. The hearty voice cuts through the booming music of the party, pulling Lio’s attention forward. He sneaks a brief glimpse and sees only a broad, bare chest. The sharp planes of muscle are prominent, the ridges and solidity bearing itself pride in front of his eyes whether he wanted to see it or not. But dammit, there’s only one person at the party who went with no shirt at all, and with a chest that should be illegal Lio knows who it is, but does he really want to try to deal with it?

(Spoiler alert: He has no choice in the matter.)

Lio tilts his head up, sees that spiky blue hair and the ridiculous DIY mop and it _clicks._ Fighting back a natural inclination to cringe at that sunshine smile, he forges his expression into neutrality, nods, and scoots to the right, making room for the blue-haired wonder. The man hobbles over with an empty glass and proceeds to dip his cup into the faucet that was left on.

“So, why’re you here?”

Leaning against the kitchen counter with gripped hands on the edge, Lio draws in a breath and lifts his eyes towards the ceiling, “It’s a party. Do I need a reason to?”

The man buys it easily. His smile remains strong, his laugh true, “Hah, you’re right. As long as your burning soul is passionate enough to party, you don’t need a reason!”

Burning soul? Was there a reason to make a comparison of the soul to small-scale reasoning for attending a party? Lio snorts, finding himself amused, “Don’t worry. You’ll see ‘burning soul’ soon enough.”

Literally, might he add. Heh.

The man bends down and leans in close, closer, oh shit their noses are bumping hey why, “You know someone here with a blazing spirit?!” The faucet clicks off, “If it’s strong enough, I’ll hear it! Make sure you remember the name,” he jabs a finger into Lio’s chest. Lio hides his flinch because _wow_ this guy had power, “Galo Thymos!”

How he manages to hold back the urge to spit in his face is astounding to him. Maybe it’s because he knows deep in his heart he’ll feel bad for spitting in the face of someone with hair and eyes so bright and blue, and a grin so innocent and blinding he would hate to see it sullied. Or maybe it was because he was, in an objective sense, handsome and cute and well Lio has to admit he _does_ swing that way. Maybe it’s just Maybelline. With that, he keeps his lips sealed, stops himself from spitting fire, waits for Galo to finish getting his water, and watches him go before scoffing to himself. Cute, but annoying. Whatever, not what he was here for.

Aaaand there’s Gueira rounding the corner with a lighter, Meis at the tow with an unlit torch. Lighter found and Listerine attached to his belt loop, Lio downs the tap water in one fluid motion and crushes his plastic cup, tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Gueira, eager and smug, casts the lighter in a free-sailing arc that lands perfectly in Lio’s palm, the trio’s eyes meeting one another’s unspoken.

* * *

“Move! Move outta the way!”

“Form a circle!”

Lio finds himself in the backyard. He cocks his hip to the side, swishing the Listerine in his mouth with eyes fixated towards the distance the people make as Meis and Gueira get to work with creating a circle around him, their voices devouring music easily in the outdoor space of the residential complex. Some people emerge from inside, curiosity taking hold, a gradual crowd developing in a wide circle around Lio. Goes to show the duo’s exceptional skill in being crowd hypers during the troupe’s performances, he supposes. They’ve performed numerously throughout the years, where time and time he has seen the power their voices have when combined together towards a singular objective. They know how much distance he needs for his party tricks, and he knows just what to do to reel in some attention.

Eight, sixteen, twenty-four feet. The distance grows with every barked command and every frantic hand gesture, the swishing of princess dresses and fur tails in tandem with the shuffle of jeans and last-minute Party City accessories. With an even, though crude, circle made around him, Lio smirks. Swirls his Listerine-filled mouth one last time, ignites a flame between his fingers using the power of the almighty lighter, and breathes fire before his baton torch.

(That’s what Lio says he does. But any member of the Mad Burnish Troupe with a brain cell knows its just a very, very long chemical reaction spit-take.)

A fire roars out from his breath. People shout in shock and awe at the surge of flame that bursts forth, igniting the baton before him. He shoves the lighter into his pocket, bringing the torch dangerously close to his lips with growing flames. He catches Thyma’s surprised expression, the open mouths of the Despicable Me Minion girl and her corpse bride friend, and grins. Good.

He twirls the torch, ignites the other end with the last of the mouthwash remaining, and does a slow spin. An arc of fire trails after his movements, putting one foot in front of the other and languidly arching back, maneuvering the torch to pivot around his neck in a ringlet of flame. Deftly catching it between his fingers, Lio whirls the torch back around, letting the flames sail and just barely brush his elbow in the transition from neck to finger. A flame licks out, blocked by the leather black of his costume, but he continues unbothered with a toss of the torch, a powerful pirouette, then a smooth catch as it goes from one hand to the other.

“You’ve got this, Boss!”

“That ain’t all you’ve got, Boss!”

His smile grows a little bigger at every sweeping gasp, every risky move that makes the torch flames dance dangerously close to his skin, every round of applause that manages to drown out Meis and Gueira’s oral advertisement of the Mad Burnish Troupe. This was it. People paying attention to what he could do with every passing twist and twirl of his body, each careful slip of the torch between his fingers as if it were an extension of himself…

Lio throws the torch into the air, the dual-ignited baton performing cartwheels in the night sky as two blazing comets chasing each other. He folds onto his knees, hands outstretched to catch it, prepared for an absolute ignition to signal the finale, before—

He catches his torch soaked in water. Completely put out. Flames? Dead. There’s a scream to his left, a clamor, the sound of footsteps getting further away, and he turns just in time to narrowly avoid an incoming _thing._

…That’s what Lio sorely wishes he could say. But nope, you just can’t have your moment to spread the good message about your fire dancing troupe, can you? Because the world fucking sucked, CEO Kray Foresight can kiss his ass, and he is resolved to commit arson on the asshole who just blitzed him with a goddamn water cannon, effectively ruining his show. He sputters, coughs out water, keels over with his head lurched forward towards the ground, wide-eyed and in shock because _what in the goddamned hell just happened?_

“So… you’re the guy with the blazin’ soul, huh?! Who’da thought it would be you, kitchen guy!”

His brow twitches. He firmly balls his hands into fists and lifts his head up towards that voice. Spiky blue hair, a completely bare chest, baggy fire red pants with a yellow three painted onto the side was a sight he realizes he would recognize immediately. A green tube hangs out of the hand of the blue-haired wonder, small droplets of water falling out every couple of seconds. Lio scowls. The man smiles proudly.

“With my burning firefighter soul, I won’t let any fires be started under my watch!”

White-hot spirits and power of will lingo. An unforgettable spiky blue. Lio sighs heavily, his downcast head dropping lower. He had patience. He was patient in recruiting for the troupe, waited for the right moment where nothing interesting was happening for his group to shine and gain local fame and didn’t snap when he got useless group members for an assignment. Because he was the fucking Boss. Patience was pertinent.

“Burning firefighter soul?”

Forget it. Fuck patience. Lio lifts himself onto his feet, eyes sharpened to daggers pointed at one: Galo. He brings his hand up to his face, brushing wet pastel green locks back. He had a good show that people were enjoying and was slowly shifting the crowd in his favor only for it to get ruined. He’ll show this bare-chested himbo what ‘burning’ meant.

“What, with that idiotic arts-and-crafts mop you got there?”

Galo gasps.

Meis and Gueira back away.

Lio raises his head.

It was a costume party in August where Lio Fotia, acting leader of the Mad Burnish Troupe, got hosed down by a shirtless fireman with a mop and a garden hose.

* * *

In Lio’s defense, Galo threw the first punch— or, to put it in more technical terms, the first swing.

In Galo’s defense, Lio insulted his… whatever the hell it’s called. Apparently not a mop. But it made for a dangerous weapon in the right hands, and Galo certainly was the definition of it. A stupid weapon for a stupid person, hey, match made in hell!

This leads them to sit outside on the porch steps together, effectively removed from the party for brawling. Lio crosses one leg over the other with a huff, glaring at the pavement while rubbing his cheek. For a dumbass, he landed a solid hit on his jaw that Lio certainly saw leaving a bruise the next morning. Galo sounds like he’s in the middle of making a mixtape comprised of only his complaints, mop resting against the stair rail. Some pathetic attempt at networking this was. The only thing he achieved tonight was a shirtless guy next to him and a boot from the party.

“Kitchen guy,” Galo starts. Lio cuts in before he continues.

“It’s Lio. Lio Fotia.”

“Lio,” he rectifies, “what’s up with the fires? Don’t ya know people can get hurt?”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Lio grumbles, pressing his forehead against his knees and closing his eyes. He doesn’t care anymore. Whatever clout he managed to gain, he was sure Meis and Gueira would handle it with much more poise than someone who got their face blasted by a garden hose. Damn it, remembering it makes him remember just how disheveled his hair is now. “I never wanted to harm anyone,” a pause follows. He had absolutely no chance of connecting or reaching anyone in the party now, but he at least could get one, right? Just one, “I was only trying to spread the name of my troupe.”

Galo shifts. He can tell with the shuffle of his bloated fire red pants and the briefest brush against his shoulder, how his voice drifted closer to the ear, “Your troupe?”

Hook, line, and sinker. “Mad Burnish Troupe,” Lio pulls his head up from his knees, eyes dragging up from seeing nothing but bare-chested muscle to meeting the cool blue that was Galo’s eyes, “we’re fire dancers in the Promepolis Theme Park.”

“Huh?! Seriously?!” Galo gawks, “Man, isn’t that dangerous? Those fires could burn you alive!”

Lio waves his hand nonchalantly towards the getup the man in front of him wore with a roll of the eyes, “You’re dressed as a man who’s supposed to stop it from being dangerous. What’s your point?”

“I did stop it! With the power of Matoi, my burning spirit doused your fiery, violent flames before it could spread—“

Did he not see Lio’s level of control? His level of skill? He ignited his torch by spitting mouthwash into a lighter, dammit! He was easily considered the best fire dancer in the troupe! Was he stupid? “Wait, wait. Did you think I was going to start a wildfire?”

“I didn’t realize you were part of Mad Burnish! What else was I s’posed to do?!”

Oh god, he really is stupid. That’s hot. Heh, hot. He should be a bloody comedian as a side job.

Regardless of internalized thought, Lio groans, smacking his palm over his eyes. Hot or not, note to self: in the future, he should make some big, dramatic introductory speech about himself rather than perform first, speak later. If it would stop idiots like the man next to him from drenching him in water, it would be worth it, “You're supposed to let me finish.”

A loud, elongated sigh next to him. A phantom skim of elbows. Galo slouches, intertwining his fingers with his voice no larger than a mumble, “Sorry. Didn’t know. My dorm’s nearby if you wanna stop by and dry off that water.”

Lio lets out a breathy exhale of his own. “I’ll think about it. Don’t apologize. It’s already over.”

“What?! Don’t say that!” Galo leaps to his feet, marching in front of Lio with his hands on his hips. It’s oddly reminiscent of one of those hall monitors from elementary school, Lio notes to himself. “You’re just tryin’ to get yer troupe seen by more people, right?! I’ll help ya advertise! As an apology!”

Not even a second passes before Galo is already up and going, leaving the latter with no time to reply. Without hearing a single word from him, he's up and approaching the door. Hate to see him leave, love to see him go. Remaining perched on the steps, Lio anticipates the moment of hesitation only to see Galo knock thrice on the door. No qualms, no second thoughts, only a steady and clear look in his eyes. Lio, unable to bring himself to look away, observes. The door opens, Galo forcefully sticks his head in and cranes his neck like a giraffe, and—

“HEY! Come n’ see my friend Lio’s troupe Mad Burnish do some epic fire moves at Promepolis Theme Park! He breathes fire! Pro-me-polis! And search for Mad! Burrr—ni—“

The door slams closed.

Galo gets shoved out.

He ends up stumbling over his own damned feet to absolutely no one’s surprise. Lio doesn’t know what he expected. Yet still, because somewhere in his cold-blooded heart, he cares enough to lunges forward and catch this dumbass anyway.

“Galo!” With his sudden tilt backward, the blue-haired idiot of the century jerks back, the heel of his foot slipping on the edge of the porch step and tumbling into a brief free-fall into lean arms. Lio braces his foot against the bottom step, gripping Galo’s back to steady him from the fall before heaving him back onto his feet with a heavy push, “What are you doing?!” He hisses.

“Advertising! You’ve gotta get your troupe recognized, don’tcha?!”

“Like this?!”

“Hell yeah! We’re gonna advertise it to the world, Lio!”

Lio stares. Stares long and hard because he wants to know what this guy ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. Was he for real? He was absolutely stupid, totally insane, but most of all— he really did have a burning spirit to admire in a convoluted, naïve sense.

(It’s flattering to a point where he— Lio Fotia of all people— is abashed.)

He ends up laughing instead. Galo grins and says nothing. He laughs from the bottom of his stomach, laughs until his gut hurts, even if the ache came quickly with how little he had managed to enjoy another’s shenanigans like this in the past. They fade into light-hearted chuckles, Lio bracing himself against a pillar while taking sharp breaths. He’s truly, genuinely amused and a little impressed at the same time. When was the last time he felt this exhilarated at mere potential ideas? Years? 

“Alright,” he manages between chuckles, grinning at Galo, “yeah. We’ll advertise it to the world. Any ideas?”

“One! We combine your lighter with my Matoi, and we wave our burning souls as a flag! Matoi were used as flags back in the Edo period of fire—”

“Right, you’re going to wave around your mop—“

“It’s Matoi!”

“—and that will attract everyone within a thirty-mile radius. Be quiet,” Lio interjects quickly before he can go on a tangent. He had a bit of a gut feeling that this was going to be some sort of recurring slapstick exchange between them, and the less he had to hear about the mop, the better, “You firefighters aren’t supposed to be promoting occupational hazards like this.” 

Galo’s fist meets the solidity of his bare chest with a thump, a broad ear-to-ear smile born with an affirmative nod, “Occupational hazard’s just part of the job! It’s what builds my firefighting spirit! We’ll form a fire dancing, firefighting team; a firefighter with a passionate, blazing resolve with the searing hot determination of—“ Galo pauses. Lio looks over just in time to see the former look him head to toe in confusion, “what’re you supposed to be?”

“Sexy,” Lio responds with a shrug. He tosses the question back, “got a problem with it? Or will you tell me all firefighters walk around shirtless like that?”

Though he supposes the choice of wear worked out. Galo was at least physically attractive to look at.

Galo crosses his arms, “You know, it’s like the anime thing.”

“Anime thing?” He frowns to himself. The last time he watched anime was— oh, he doesn’t remember anymore. Damn.

“Yeah! Y’know, the less clothes ya wear, the more powerful you are!”

…Or maybe he’s better off never getting into it if anime created bullshit like that. He scoffs to hide a smile, “That’s stupid.”

Galo laughs, loud and hearty, and clapping Lio over the back, “You call it stupid, but your hits were wet noodles ta' me! Maybe if you tried it too, your raging soul would answer mine!”

If someday in the future, one were to ask Lio what exactly he was thinking at this time, he wouldn’t have an answer. He might just take out the lighter, swirl some mouthwash or cornstarch, then breathe fire in their face and tell them to leave. But at this moment, perhaps he could blame it on the mood, or the infectious positivity that was Galo Thymos, or the hormones speaking, but his greatest takeaway at this moment was that a sexy shirtless fireman was telling Lio to strip with him.

So, what does Lio do? He doesn’t have a logical explanation for it, but he didn’t see why _not_ at this point. He’s kicked out of the party, but he’s still gotten someone hooked onto his troupe. There was little more he could do for the night. Some fun never hurt him.

“Fine, I’ll follow your lead,” he says. He yanks the zipper to his jacket down, shrugs it off, removes the handkerchief and tosses it behind him with no fucks left to give, and locks eyes with Galo as he slips off both gloves with his teeth. Galo cocks an eyebrow at him, blue irises glued onto the way Lio shrugs his jacket off. Lio grins haughtily back at him.

Maybe he’ll try to get laid tonight after all.

“Is that offer to stop by your place still open?”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!


End file.
